


Ineffable Fictober 2019

by vgersix



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), DO NOT REPOST WORK, Fictober, Fictober 2019, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands Fictober, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-09 08:17:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix/pseuds/vgersix
Summary: A collection of daily short pieces for each day in October 2019. See all prompts here:Ineffable InktoberThis was originally organized for Inktober, but I'm using them as writing prompts. :)





	1. At the Ritz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the fifth time they’d dined here this week, and Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever be tired of it. Of course, all things grew tedious with enough repetition, but for now, the Ritz had become an almost daily outing in their newly shared life. And at least for the time being, Crowley was perfectly happy with the comfortable normalcy it had already taken on — the thing they could count on day after day — stable, expected, known.

**Day 1. AT THE RITZ**

There was a harpist today. 

Crowley failed to stifle a snort as visions of Aziraphale in a little white gauzy number, plucking heavenly strings came to mind. 

The angel turned from his side of the table, delivering another mouthful of ambrosia to his lips with a suspicious gleam in his eye. 

“Is something funny, my dear?” He asked, voice thick around the sweet dessert. 

It was the fifth time they’d dined here this week, and Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever be tired of it. Of course, all things grew tedious with enough repetition, but for now, the Ritz had become an almost daily outing in their newly shared life. And at least for the time being, Crowley was perfectly happy with the comfortable normalcy it had already taken on — the thing they could count on day after day — stable, expected, known.

“She’s pretty good, don’t you think?” Crowley said by way of an answer, pointing toward the harpist in the corner with a lazy rise of his chin. 

He was already tucking in to another cup of coffee, and raised the thick white mug to his lips with relish. It wasn’t particularly British of him, he knew, but after all… Crowley had been Mesopotamian, then Roman, long before he was British — and the little spark of electricity that caffeine sent hurtling through his system was always welcome. Plus, the stuff was delicious with just the right blend of sugar and cream. Little dash of nutmeg if he was feeling particularly spicy. Never mind the effect a hot drink could have on a cold-blooded body, still serpentine down to its most basic level. 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. “Yes, she is.” He turned back to Crowley, frowning. “But don’t they usually have someone on piano?”

“Variety is the spice of life, angel,” Crowley grinned over his coffee. 

Aziraphale shot him a mischievous look, smiling. “I suppose that’s true. Yet we keep coming here, don’t we?”

Crowley made a noise, hurriedly putting his coffee down. 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said.

Aziraphale chuckled good-naturedly. “Oh, Crowley… I know.” 

He placed one hand on the table to emphasize his point. “I dare say, I would be perfectly happy eating here every day for the next century or so. If that’s all right by you.”

Crowley felt his face turn pink, and looked down to where Aziraphale’s hand rested on the white linen covered table. 

“No complaints, here,” he said. 

“But you didn’t answer my question,” said Aziraphale.

“Hmm?” Crowley furrowed his brow. “What question?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, long-suffering. “What was so funny just now?”

“Oh,” Crowley huffed. “I was imagining you sitting on a little cloud, playing the harp.”

Aziraphale sputtered. “How many times have I told you — I never played harp! And you should know full well, there are no little clouds! Anyway, even if there were — you can’t very well sit on them. Crowley, you ought to know basic chemistry by now…”

Crowley leaned on one hand, his elbow shamelessly resting on the table. He placed the other quietly over Aziraphale’s where it lay on the linen. The angel stopped blathering suddenly — leaving a comment about the consistency of water vapor quite unfinished. 

“Right then,” said Crowley, taking in the angel’s rosy cheeks with more enjoyment certainly than he’d taken in any of the food or drink consumed today, or any day. “Shall we?”

Aziraphale sighed with pleasure, turning his hand over to grasp Crowley’s. “Yes, all right. Let’s go home, then.”


	2. Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For another 200 days or so, he stared into the middle distance that was the far off horizon line of the desert. It would have been rather nice to turn around. Every now and then, he’d hear a bit of chatter coming from below, as the humans passed by on their daily activities. He’d catch little snippets of conversation. It was quite nice, he thought. The two of them seemed to get on well, and there were times he felt a bit lonely — wishing he had someone to make idle talk with himself. But, Michael had been quite clear — Aziraphale was not to engage with Adam or Eve. He was a watchful guardian from above, not their companion. He was not to influence them in any way, and he was under strict orders to keep his eyes pointed eastward, toward the sprawling desert and away from Eden.

**Day 2. EDEN**

_“And technically, I was on apple tree duty.”_

***

Aziraphale had not dared enter the Garden at first. He’d been stationed on the eastern wall, handed a flaming sword, and instructed under no uncertain terms that he was to stay there, night and day, watching for any signs of danger.

What sort of danger might be anticipated, he was apparently not privy to know.

On day 475 his resolve finally broke.

“Oh, forget this,” he said to himself. “There’s no other living things about. Not out there, anyway.” He gestured with the sword, swinging it wildly towards the sandy desert stretching out before him. “What’s the point of my standing here?”

He shrugged, looking to the Heavens for an answer, but She was silent.

“Well,” he said. “Surely you won’t mind if I have a bit of a sit down, at least? The legs do begin to ache after a fashion, you know?”

The only sound was the whistling of the constant wind, whipping his robes and making the sword flicker like an orange and yellow flag. He curved it in a swooping arc, wicking it away from his body to extinguish the flame.

“Had about enough of that, I think,” he said, sighing as he settled down on the stone parapet. He laid the now naked sword on the surface next to him, glad to rest his aching muscles for a while.

For another 200 days or so, he stared into the middle distance that was the far off horizon line of the desert. It would have been rather nice to turn around. Every now and then, he’d hear a bit of chatter coming from below, as the humans passed by on their daily activities. He’d catch little snippets of conversation. It was quite nice, he thought. The two of them seemed to get on well, and there were times he felt a bit lonely — wishing he had someone to make idle talk with himself. But, Michael had been quite clear — Aziraphale was not to engage with Adam or Eve. He was a watchful guardian from above, not their companion. He was not to influence them in any way, and he was under strict orders to keep his eyes pointed eastward, toward the sprawling desert and away from Eden.

Even now, he could hear them. It sounded like they were approaching from the west — probably coming from the little babbling brook that flowed there. He’d overheard them splashing there before, enjoying the fresh cool water and each others’ company by the rocks.

He strained his ear to listen more closely, now.

“Well, I don’t know,” Adam was saying. “I like the black grapes best.”

“Oh, but the green ones,” said Eve. “That little bit of tart — it’s so…” she seemed to cast about for the right words, “Refreshing! Mmm, I love these!”

They laughed, continuing on their way past Aziraphale’s perch, apparently enjoying their walk by the wall and moving on to the next interesting place to continue their day.

What was a grape, he wondered? And what did it mean for something to have, ‘a little bit of tart?’ He knew the concept of refreshment. The cool wind on one’s face, or the feeling right after a long battle, when one was allowed to put down their sword, wipe away the grime of war, and breathe deeply — these things were refreshing. But taste? How could something taste refreshing?

Aziraphale rolled the muscular organ inside his mouth — a tongue — the word came to mind suddenly. It was intended to taste with, he thought. This form he’d been given to inhabit while stationed here — it was a human form, meant to be familiar and comforting to his charges below. But Aziraphale himself was still quite uncertain about it, how all its bells and whistles worked. And one thing he’d not yet had the opportunity to try out was this — tasting. He found himself wondering now… what would a grape, whatever that was… taste like? What did it mean for anything to… taste… _like_… anything?

Certainly he had some sense of taste. The inside of his own mouth didn’t really have much of a taste, though he imagined that had something to do with the fact that he’d had nothing to compare it to, yet. Although, as he experimented now, he found that when he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, there was… something… on the air. He could taste the air, even if it was a subtle thing. It thrilled him. He smiled to himself, trying to understand it better. What did the air taste like? He wasn’t sure. But it was different, that much he could be sure of. And he wanted more.

He looked down at the sword — at its metallic, steel surface. He picked it up and tentatively stuck out his tongue to touch the flat side of it. He flinched, pulling away. He glanced around as if anyone might be watching. No one was. Nevertheless, he felt quite silly, tasting a sword. He leaned in again, tasting it a second time. Metal. This was what metal tasted like? It was, sharp… acerbic. Not all that pleasant, he decided. But of course, one should not expect a sword to taste good.

He wanted to try something else.

He wanted to try… a grape, perhaps?

Slowly, tentatively, Aziraphale turned. He glanced over his shoulder, at first. He paused, looked up. Nothing but rolling clouds and blue sky watching from above, as far as he could tell.

He turned his body more fully, pointing his toes toward the inside wall. Looked skyward again. Still nothing.

No one was watching.

Aziraphale lowered his gaze, looking into the Garden. He’d glanced at it briefly before, when Michael had first brought him here, but that had been ages ago — almost 700 days to be exact.

It was just as beautiful as he remembered, all green foliage and colorful flowers — curling vines that quickly morphed into one great mass of verdant life rather than individual plants. Far off in the distance, he could see the one open area in the whole of the Garden, the tree they weren’t supposed to eat from, or touch. Nothing seemed amiss. He could see them now, just off to his left, wandering along the edge of the wall and munching on…

Grapes! They were still eating them, each carrying a little handful of the dark purple and light green fruits in their outstretched hands. They made up little clusters — each bite-sized piece of fruit connected to a vine. How very convenient, Aziraphale thought, and more importantly — portable.

“I’ll just be a moment, I think,” he said to himself, and opened his wings, softly gliding into the Garden on the updrafts of wind that played along the edge of the wall. 

He landed on bent legs, taking in his surroundings quickly. The heart in his chest was thumping excitedly, and he looked around, hoping to spot a bush or tree covered in the little fruits quickly enough. But, it seemed, he wasn’t so lucky. They must have picked them further up the path, and carried them down this way as they ate.

Aziraphale sighed, quickly making his way up the little garden trail toward the sound of flowing water. It had sounded like they had come from near the stream. Perhaps if he headed that way, he might run across the vines, grab a handful of grapes, and be back on the wall before anyone had a chance to notice.

It was the perfect plan.

Just a few minutes later, the path opened onto a lovely little scene. The stream lay before him, water burbling happily over an outcropping of massive rocks. The sun shone down through the trees, a soft breeze played in the curls of his hair, and the feathers on his wings flapped freely in the delicate flutter of wind. The sound of the water flowing by and the soft scent of flowers filled his nostrils and ears. Who knew there was so much sensory experience to be had down here? Surely this was better than anything he’d known thus far up on that wall?

And as his gaze flitted past the stream, the stone, the little patch of grass growing right up next to the bank of the water, there they were — grapevines. They _did_ grow on vines, he thought, correcting his previous assumption that there might be a tree or bush involved. No, they were just massive vines, growing up into the limbs of a tree near the bank of the creek, a foundation to support their gnarled bulk, which was all heavily laden with the dark little fruits.

His heart beat even faster, now. He was going to try one. He was going to taste food. Aziraphale could barely contain his excitement. To try something new, for the very first time, was quite a rare experience.

He stepped closer, reaching out for a particularly large and juicy looking grape that was hanging heavily in front of him. He took it gingerly between finger and thumb, tugged on it, and felt it break free of the vine.

“Oh,” a little breath escaped his mouth. He bit his bottom lip, holding tight to courage. “Right then.”

He glanced around, but of course no one was there. So without further ado, he took a deep breath and popped the grape into his mouth.

Belatedly, he had the terrifying thought that perhaps food was not meant for angelic bodies. How did he know this thing wouldn’t poison him? He didn’t. The Almighty had reasons for making certain things forbidden. He’d been specifically told to stay on the wall, not even to look into the Garden, let alone go there. Let alone eat the fruit of it. But as he bit into the soft body of the grape, felt the thin skin give way to the succulent, luscious flesh inside, all his fear fell away. The juicy flavor poured from inside the fruit, coating his tongue. He bit down again, coaxing more of the juice out into his mouth, filling it with sweet taste.

Taste… he thought. This was taste! Oh, it was exquisite. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation in his mouth, trying to block out every other avenue into his consciousness. But already the flavor was passing away. He swallowed, feeling the need to do so instinctively — like the body knew what to do with food, even if he didn’t.

He reached for another.

There must have been thousands of grapes weighing down the vines, and soon enough Aziraphale had filled his mouth with them, cheeks swollen with grapes as he munched happily. He piled some in the front of his robes, pinching the hem into a sort of satchel, scooping them up.

That was when he remembered the green ones.

“Oh!” He exclaimed. He’d got to find them. Eve had described them affectionately as ‘a little bit of tart.’ He desperately needed to know what she had meant by that.

He wandered up the path a little further, and there was another tree, vines clinging to its limbs, full of bright green little pinpricks of fruit. Aziraphale ran up to it, giddily plucking the little neon grapes off in clusters, adding them to the bundle on his robes. He popped one into his mouth, and gasped.

Tart! It was tart! It was… it made his cheeks pinch with the harshness of the flavor — but it was good! He liked it! Lord help him, he liked them both equally — he didn’t think he could decide on a favorite. But he could certainly see why Eve liked these ones so much. He sighed, wondering if he might ever get the chance to tell her how right she’d been.

Oh, this was turning out to be the very best day.

A bloodcurdling scream ripped through the forest.

Aziraphale froze. How long had he been away from his post? He was horrified to find that he didn’t know. It had certainly been more than a few minutes. He looked up, noting the location of the sun. He’d been here…

“Oh, dear.”

…for at least an hour.

He let go of his robes, ignored the waterfall of cascading grapes as they tumbled to the ground, and shot into the sky with one beat of his great wings.

Another scream broke the silence of the forest. It was unmistakably female. Eve. What was happening to her? He didn’t even have his sword — he’d left it on the wall. He cursed himself, shot up the stone face at preternatural speed, grabbed it, and raced toward the sound of her cries.

She was there, at the base of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, curled into a ball.

What had she been thinking? Why would she… he trailed off, not bothering to finish the thought, because there, in the grass, was his answer.

A massive red-bellied serpent was curled up next to her. It looked up, saw Aziraphale plummeting from the sky, and stuck out its tongue, tasting the air.

Aziraphale landed heavily in the grassy copse of trees, flared his wings large behind him, and approached.

“Get away, fiend!” He said to the serpent, brandishing the fiery sword in a practiced stance. “You are not welcome, here!”

The serpent said nothing, flicking its tongue again. Aziraphale ignored it, going too Eve.

“My dear,” he said. “Are you all right?”

She was crying, hands over her face, knees tucked up into her belly. “Please,” she cried. “Go away! I’m naked!”

Aziraphale pulled back from her, finally seeing the apple where it lay on the ground — bite marks apparent on its flesh.

It was done, then.

He looked up in time to see the serpent slithering away into the grass.

Adam watched from the bushes, fear in his eyes. His own crime lay in the dust next to him, a half-eaten fruit, waxy and glimmering red in the afternoon light.

*

Later, while he sat on the Garden wall, clutching the extinguished sword to his chest, Aziraphale reflected that God had said nothing about what he’d done.

She’d appeared in a haze of afternoon light, beaming down from beyond the clouds.

“Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

The title sounded like a mockery to Aziraphale’s ears now, but She made no indication that it was intended to be so.

“Yes, Lord?” He’d said, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

“My children have disobeyed me. They have eaten the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. What do you know of this?”

“Ah,” he said. “Lord, I saw it — a demon in the Garden. It tempted them.”

“I see,” She said. “Then here is your task, angel. You are to make an opening in the Garden wall. My children must leave this place. Then you will close the wall behind them. This is your task.”

Aziraphale leapt to his feet. “Almighty! Did you not hear me? There was a demon—”

Her voice rang out like thunder, cutting him off mid-outburst. “I heard your words, Principality.”

Aziraphale shuddered at the shift of tone, shuddered at his own audacity. Had he just talked back to the Almighty? Questioned her?

When Her voice came again, it remained dark, but calm. It matched the darkening sky.

“This is your task, Aziraphale.”

And just like that, She had gone.

Now, Aziraphale hugged his sword, wracked with guilt. Guilt. It was a new concept for him, and he found it truly intolerable. She had not said word one about what he’d done. But, he knew — without question he knew — She had seen. She saw everything.

He looked down at the sword in his arms, and found he quite suddenly wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. Perhaps it would do them more good than it had ever done him.

*

In the morning, he glided down into the Garden, the same as he had the day before. But this time, he was about a very different task.

The flaming sword roared with power between his hands, and with one mighty blow, he punched a hole in the wall, just big enough for two people to crawl through. They stood behind him, a mixture of fear and awe clear on their faces.

“You’ll take this with you,” he said, offering the sword to Adam. To his credit, the man took it without question.

Aziraphale turned to Eve now. “You know,” he said, looking askance. “I don’t blame you.”

She looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault, really,” Aziraphale said. “That is…”

She was gazing up at him, but not really seeing him, he thought. He’d failed them. He was a looming stranger to her — the shadowy figure they’d watched on the ramparts at night, a fearful creature that held fire in his hands and never spoke, never bothered to come down from his ivory tower. Why should she trust him? Why should she care for his parting words?

“You were right about the grapes,” he said. “I liked the green ones best, too.”

She blinked, then smiled despite herself, breathing a little easier.

Aziraphale reached into the folds of his heavy robes, revealing a little pouch laced with leather cord. He offered it to her with a warm smile. “It isn’t much, but…”

She reached out, took the pouch from his hands. Inside, there was a little bundle of grapes.

“It’s ah… a blessed item, I suppose,” he said. “It’ll never go empty.”

She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you.”

And then she disappeared through the wall, and Aziraphale did not see her again.

He watched them leave, standing guard on the wall, weaponless. The guilt still lingered in his chest, and he wondered if he’d done the right thing, after all. There was a time, he reflected, he had always known right from wrong. Something about this world, and inhabiting this body, it seemed to be blurring the lines of such things.

As he reflected upon this, he thought he heard something moving nearby — something… slithering.

***


	3. Crossover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, I don't know what I expected." xD 
> 
> ***
> 
> Aziraphale bid the lad a pleasant day and headed back down to the beach. When he got there, he found Crowley where he’d left him, safely ensconced beneath a large umbrella and sprawled out on a huge beach blanket, complete with pillows and a picnic basket full of snacks. He appeared to be talking to a man on a… Aziraphale squinted. What was that infernal contraption? It certainly looked infernal, anyway. The kind of bizarre sort of thing Crowley might have dreamt up while drunk, and then released into the world, only to be foiled by it some time later.
> 
> The Good Omens / Arrested Development crossover that no one asked for.

**Day 3. Crossover: Good Omens / Arrested Development**

***

“That’ll be eight dollars, please.”

“Ah, yes. Of course,” said Aziraphale, cheerfully producing a handful of the dull green and white paper currency from his pockets. He plucked the appropriate four bills — one fiver and three singles, handing them over to the young man behind the register.

“Where’d you say you were from?” The young man asked, handing two frozen bananas over to Aziraphale.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Well, we live in London — have done for quite some time, now. But I’m not really _from_ there, you know.” He rolled his eyes, bobbing his head in a, ‘you know how it is’ sort of fashion. “So few people are, these days.”

The boy laughed, putting the cash away into the register. “It’s like that here, too. No one’s really _from_ L.A.”

“Ha, indeed,” said Aziraphale. “But what a lovely place. I can see why so many choose to come here. Perfect weather, too.”

As he spoke, the ocean breeze picked up a bit, as if to emphasize his point. The sun was shining, and the temperature was a perfect 29 degrees, or 85 degrees Fahrenheit, if one was going by the American scale.

Aziraphale bid the lad a pleasant day and headed back down to the beach. When he got there, he found Crowley where he’d left him, safely ensconced beneath a large umbrella and sprawled out on a huge beach blanket, complete with pillows and a picnic basket full of snacks. He appeared to be talking to a man on a… Aziraphale squinted. What was that infernal contraption? It certainly looked infernal, anyway. The kind of bizarre sort of thing Crowley might have dreamt up while drunk, and then released into the world, only to be foiled by it some time later.

It had two wheels and seemed to defy physics. The man was standing on it, hands clasped over handlebars at chest height — it was like some kind of strange velocipede… err… bicycle, Aziraphale corrected himself.

As he approached, he picked up on snippets of their conversation.

“Well, yeah,” the man on the contraption was saying. “This baby’s top of the line, ya know. Saves me so much time getting around the city.”

“I imagine so,” Crowley said, nodding. “Damned lot of cars here, couldn’t help but notice.”

“Oh, yeah,” the man agreed, shaking his head. “No more room at the inn, I always say! Go home, we’re full! But everybody thinks they’re the next CEO for Google, ya know.”

They shared a laugh as if the man had just told a very funny joke. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d caught it. He sat down next to Crowley, handing him one of the frozen bananas.

“For you, dear,” he said.

“Ooh,” said Crowley appreciatively, taking the chocolate-dipped treat. “Was beginning to think you’d got lost.”

“No, no,” said Aziraphale. “I was just chatting with the fine young lad at the banana stand. Imagine working one’s summer away like that. Poor dear, he’s young — ought to be out here enjoying a bit of it himself, I rather thought.”

“Oh, you met young Michael,” the man on the contraption interjected. “That’s my nephew. Always working. Poor kid wouldn’t know what to do with a day off.”

“Angel,” said Crowley, “This is my new friend, Gob.” He gestured excitedly toward the contraption Gob was standing on. “You remember I told you about these things — it’s called a Segway!”

Aziraphale did remember, now he thought about it. It had sounded like a spectacularly awful idea at the time, and it looked even worse in person. He smiled at Crowley perhaps a bit more indulgently than was believable.

“Oh yes,” he said, turning his attention to Gob. “Very nice.”

“Well,” Gob announced. “Nice chatting with you chaps! Ha!”

He put on a terribly fake British accent for the last bit, laughing as if he’d told another hilarious joke. This earned him a slow blink from Aziraphale as he bit into his frozen banana.

“Better be off, then!” Gob said. “I’ve got a new illusion to put together this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes!” Crowley said, turning to Aziraphale. “Gob’s a magician, angel. You ought to—”

“Hmm,” hummed Aziraphale sharply. “Very nice.”

He gave Crowley his best ‘oh-dear-god-please-shut-up-he-was-about-to-leave’ face, making Crowley trail off mid-sentence.

“—ought to… Oh, well…” Crowley said, and stuck the banana in his mouth.

Gob appeared to have missed this interaction entirely, and was now pressing buttons on the Segway with increasing urgency.

“What the hell’s wrong with this thing?” he said, mostly to himself.

He rocked back and forth on the little platform, causing the Segway to sway a bit, but it didn’t appear to be going anywhere soon. The motor was making little gurgling sounds, as if the machine had suddenly become sentient and was experiencing debilitating pain for the first time.

Aziraphale took another bite of his frozen treat, looking a bit bored.

“Don’t imagine it was ever rated for use on sand…” He said around a mouthful of banana and chocolate.

Crowley and Gob spent the next twenty minutes or so — pushing, hauling, and shoving the thing off the beach and back onto the boardwalk. Aziraphale watched for a while, and eventually opened his book, settling back on the pillows.

Ah, well. That’s what came of poorly thought out inventions from a demonic mind. He didn’t know what else he might have expected.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so because I had to... it was decided:
> 
> Aziraphale = Michael (always trying to do the right thing and please everyone, but still his own brand of idiot at heart)  
Crowley = Gob (even though Gob is a horrible magician and this had me going 'oh god, is HE Aziraphale???', his penchant for playing pranks that backfire on him sealed his fate. He's definitely Crowley).  
Gabriel = Lucille ("It's one banana, Michael. What could it cost? 10 dollars?" xDDDDD)  
Beelzebub = Lucille 2 (purely because of the love/hate relationship she and Lucille have for each other which is hilarious to me)  
God = Still the invisible Narrator. 
> 
> I don't know about everyone else, but these alone had me howling. I wish I had more time to flesh out this idea and write more, but the concept of Gob and Crowley bonding over shitty ideas and poorly executed inventions was just hilarious to me. Also Crowley 1000% invented the Segway. Don't @ me. xD

**Author's Note:**

> Chat at me on Tumblr [@vgersix](http://vgersix.tumblr.com)


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